You Can Count On Me
by screammealullaby
Summary: England is troubled by a certain Frenchman, even more so when he is promised a visit from the bastard but was it just a drunk call in the middle of the night? M for certain events, yaoi don't like don't read, R&R please  Oneshot


Britain had busied himself with paperwork he needed to get done, though it was getting late. He had to stay busy as his mind kept wandering back to that damn America. He never listened, _ever. _Britain didn't care, what his problem was was _France. _Yes, France. Britain hated the fact that, against his inner objections, he couldn't help but care for the dumb wine bastard. Just a little of course, and he would never ever admit it to anyone.

What did that fact have to do with America? When America fought for his independence, France sided with him and that was one of Britain's most emotional times. '_He's always around me, bothering me about dates and that time with his proposal.' _Britain thought to himself. _'Even if it only was an economical issue, I think it counts.' _He shook his head, trying to forget all of his relationship worries, and tried to refocus his attention to the paperwork on his desk.

Oddly enough, his phone rang. He jumped at the sudden sound and looked at the clock which read 3:34. "Who the bloody hell is calling me at this time of night?" He glared at the phone before begrudgingly answering. "Hello?" His annoyance was prominent in his voice.

"Ello? Wow, I can't believe you're awake!" _France_ sang from the other side although Britain thought he sounded like he had been drinking. "I was actually just calling to see if you wanted to come over tomorrow and I don't know, just hang out for a bit? I only planned to leave a message." He laughed that adorably sexy laugh and Britain cringed, his heart beginning to race. He had to be slightly intoxicated, considering the subject and he time.

"I don't know Francis, I'm rather busy. That's why I'm still up actually." He replied, not wanting to entirely reject him.

"Maybe I can come over to your house? I really want to see you Arthur!" At this point, England wasn't sure what to say but he was positive it was the alcohol talking. "Please mon cher Angleterre?" And now he was blushing.

"Don't say such embarrassing things." He replied quietly, not having any real answer.

More laughter came over the phone. "You really are such a prude man, no? I'll see you tomorrow then! Do try to get some sleep. Bonsoir ché

"Ah, goodnight then." He hung up the phone, sighing. "Why the hell does he tease me so much?" He buried his face in his hands. "Well, I suppose I'll be going to bed then, I don't want to be too tired when he gets here."

And with that, he retired to his bedroom. He pulled his clothes off and fell into bed in just his boxers, too tired to actually put on clothes. He laid there for quite a while, unable to fall asleep as he thought about that damn blue eyed git but eventually, he drifted off...

The next day began like any other, he woke up, ate and went back to doing his work. He hadn't finished his paperwork and figured he would do so. Once again, he tried keeping his mind off of France, secretly hoping that he would show up to interrupt and save him. He didn't.

Soon enough, lunch time came, and he still had no guest so he dined alone. He refused to call him; he wasn't going to admit that he wanted him to come over so he decided to keep waiting. With a heavy sigh, Britain began to reason that France had just given him a drunk call in the middle of the night, giving him false hope of something that would never happen. He returned sadly to his paperwork, working straight past dinner until finally he was just plain tired. He stood up from his desk and stressed, heading to his bathroom for a shower.

It was about 9 at night, and he had concluded that the bastard wasn't coming. He stripped his clothes off, turning on the water in his shower. He purred softly as the hot water pounded over his body, leaning against the wall to steady himself. He began to think about everything in his life, especially his love life. Somehow, his mind wandered somewhere he usually didn't let it go; he began fantasizing about the beautiful blue eyed male that had disappointed him, thinking about what would happen if he were to walk through the door right now, brushing past the shower curtain, kissing him fiercely. He half let out a moan, thinking about how it would feel to have his hands wandering over his wet skin, his lips on his neck, his di-

He snapped out of his little dream, realizing he was getting to be rather turned on and he decided to hurry and get out, maybe go to bed. He turned off the water, too distracted to properly wash himself and tied a towel around his waist, rubbing another through his hair to get rid of the excess water. He wandered to his bedroom, not bothering to even get dressed as he sulked, falling onto the bed. His towel came undone, falling slightly off of his hips so it barely covered him as he laid there on his back. He closed his eyes, trying to forget his disappointment and clear his head.

And there it was, that sexy laughter and Britain tensed incredulously, eyes shooting open. "Oh my ma chére! I'm terribly sorry I was running late, but I love ze fact you waited up for me, in such a obscene way even!" He continued his laughter, presenting England with a bouquet of 12 red roses and a bottle of champagne.

"I wasn't planning this you bloody git! I just got out of the shower!" Britain blushed, sitting up and avoiding the others gaze as he took the flowers, half hiding behind them. He attempted to cover himself back up with the towel. France wouldn't allow it, sneaking over to the bed, grabbing his wrists which caused the towel to come off a little more.

"Oh, well isn't zat convenient! Perhaps you should have waited until after my visit to shower zough." He smiled, climbing on the bed so he was straddling England's waist.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He turned furiously red.

"Oh please, don't play innocent with me! My goodness, you look adorable when you're naked!" He smiled and pressed their lips together before he could respond, or protest for that matter. Britain fell back onto the bed, the other fell over him as well causing him to release his hold on his wrists and put his hands on either side of his head.

"Wow, you're really forward tonight, more so than usual." Britain panted for air.

France snicked. "Well wouldn't you be if you walked in on and adorable Brit, lying on a bed, wearing nothing but a towel that just barely hides him?"

"Fair point." He turned ridiculously red as he thought it over, realizing how provocative he was being.

"Would you care for some wine? As much as I'd love to shag you right here, I wouldn't want us to waste our evening."

Britain nodded. "Let me put my pants on then." He received a confused look.

"Why?" He smiled, pulling him along with his free hand, losing the towel in the process. "Someone's already excited!" He smirked, eying Britain's lean figure, all the way down.

"I-um, oh bugger off!" He averted his gaze again. They got to the kitchen and France kissed him again, expertly pouring the wine into two fancy champagne glasses, and handed one to the Brit.

England eagerly took a drink and as soon as the glass left his lips, they were covered by the Frenchman's in a delicious, alcoholic kiss.

France enjoyed teasing the already half hard male, so he sandwiched the others hips between his own and the cupboard. Britain couldn't help but let out an involuntary moan which was swallowed by the other nation as he sucked on his tongue.

England's hands began to undress France there in the kitchen, letting his shirt and pants fall to the floor. One of his hands slid down the front of his boxers, petting his erection softly. "I'm not the only one who's excited." Britain broke their kiss.

"I have every reason to be." He simpered, resisting a moan as the skilled hand teased him. He laid him on the floor of the kitchen, causing his back to arch from the cold contact, placing chaste kisses down the Brit's jaw line and neck until he reached one of his nipples. He took one of his fingers and dipped it into his champagne before rubbing it softly over one of the pink nubs. He smirked and flicked his tongue over it, enjoying the sweet, tingly taste with the eroticism of licking it off of him. His mouth continued down to his navel and sat up again. He poured a small bit of wine into England's belly button, using his tongue to retrieve it.

Britain was writhing beneath him, soft whimpers escaping his lips. France's hand wandered between his legs and his whimper turned into a moan as he bucked his hips into his hand. "Francis..." He purred.

"Aw so cute! I love listening to you moan my name!" He pressed their lips together ferociously, pressing him into the floor.

Britain sat up, keeping their lips connected and blindly grabbed for his glass, 'accidentally' spilling it on France's boxers.

"Hey!" He jumped from surprise.

"Oops." England feigned innocence whilst tugging the only thing France had on off of his body. He kissed down the blonde's body, stopping only once to look into the blue eyes. He was almost at the bottom of his navel but France stopped him. He pulled him onto his lap so Britain was straddling his waist, legs spread wide. He dipped three of his fingers into his wine and then offered them to the Brit's mouth.

The Englishman accepted them, softly sucking on them and licking the delicious drink off, nibbling ever so slightly.

A minute later, France pulled his fingers out of his mouth and pressed one into his backside. Britain let out a moan of pleasure and pain, kissing the other passionately and gasped as he added another finger, allowing a tongue to enter his mouth. It wasn't until he added the third that England let out the loudest moan as France softly rubbed his prostate.

Satisfied, the larger nation pulled his fingers out and the other retaliated by rubbing their erections together and now it was his turn to moan. He pushed him off of his lap and England snuck back down to his erection, taking it into his mouth before the other blonde could protest, not that he could anyway. France muffled a groan by biting his lip and dropped his head to the side. He made sure is was slick and pulled it out of his mouth, kissing up his thigh before clarifying. "I don't have any lube in the house.

"I did but zis works too." He smirked, lust clouding his eyes. England smiled at him and sat back, spreading his legs as an invitation.

France complied, positioning himself and pressing into him, growling at the tight heat. The other merely gasped and wrapped his legs around him, pulling him in to the hilt.

The Brit whimpered as his neck was abused by a mouth, sucking softly though hard enough that it was sure to leave a hickey. He pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in, beginning a steady rhythm. He angled himself more and slammed into him, earning a strangled cry of pleasure as he hit his prostate head on. "Oh god!" Britain squeaked, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman's neck.

France's laugh echoed in his ears as he moved faster, nibbling on the sensitive skin of his shoulder. Britain decided to copy the actions and bit softly at his ear. He licked up a bead of sweat that was trailing down the side of his face and laughed.

France took the initiative in connecting their lips again, wasting no time in getting his tongue into a heated battle as he relentlessly pounded the others prostate. His hand snuck between their stomachs, lightly teasing his aching erection before palming it and pumping in time with his thrusts.

Finally Britain had to break their kiss, panting heavily. "Francis!" He cried as white heat sprayed over their stomachs.

"Arthur!" The sound of his own name was enough to send France over the edge and he filled the other with his seed.

After catching his breath somewhat, France pulled out of him and smiled.

"Well, I've not done that in my kitchen before." Britain giggled.

"Arthur," France kept smiling at him and then pressed their lips together with an entirely different intent this time before pulling back. "I love you."


End file.
